


In the Dreamgrove, redux

by holhorsinaround



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Personal Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holhorsinaround/pseuds/holhorsinaround
Summary: Contemplation and aftermath, realization.





	In the Dreamgrove, redux

He had seen her pass the inn he stayed at, they had met eyes, but she had made no move toward him and him no move to her. He had went to bed in one of the open rooms with the other druids and awoken the next day with a letter on his belongings. It has been written in Zandali much to his surprise.

 

_Ah_  
_My apologies for yesterday._  
_I see we have our differences, and maybe yours are worth knowing. I don’t understand who you are, and that comes as no surprise to me._  
_I would like to make amends._  
_Not now. Maybe some day, farther into the future._

_Your father lost his life in Darkshore, following Warchief._  
_I spoke to the druids, asking opinions._

_You have a brother, Keh, and a sister on the way._  
_I would like them to know you._

_And I would like to know you, too._

 

He crumbled it and shoved it into his bag.

He stalked out into the wastes of the Grove, far from where the settlement resided. Into the depths near to Val'sharrah’s border, where the growth grew wild. He eyed his surroundings, feeling hopeless and sad, depressed, alone. He sat down at the edge of a river and pulled his boots free, laid them to the side. Then his pants, unclasping the buckles that connected them to his chest piece. He folded them, laid them over his boots; considered. Off with his chest piece, folded, laid to the side. He sat, bare save for his underwear and undershirt. He dipped his feet into the water and felt the rush of the river against his skin and fur. It wasn’t terribly strong. He pulled his feet back and stood, removing his underwear and pulling his tank top free. He laid them to the side too, pulled his cloak around everything in a bundle, then dropped into the river.

It came well above his waist and a rush of terror chilled his core, drawing within his chest and filling his stomach. Sun shined down through the leaves are dappled the surface of the river as the fear of drowning, of death over took him.

And then, he plunged his head under, letting himself free float with the current a few feet before digging his toes into the silt.  He came to stand, gasping for air and eyes clenched, hair clinging to his eyes and cheeks while the freezing water washed down his form. He was loud in his breathing, but the sound was drowned by the rushing of his blood and by his heartbeat, as though they were a river and thunder in his chest.

_This too passes_ , he considered.

He was in control.

He looked up at the sky and trees as thunder sounded and rain began to fall. Suddenly, the forest broke into noise– the rain through the leaves, thunder booming, echoing, the song of frogs from the river and insects crying from the weeds.

In his head, he felt a chittering, playful laughter and, like the frogs and the insects, he burst into sound, a laugh bubbling from his stomach and chest and raising in pitch to compete with the wood song. It was manic, frenzied, and thoughtless. He gave in, gasping and laughing, his hands coming into his hair, swiping it back. He kept his hands behind his neck, elbows pointed.

Rain came down his face, cold as the river, but it soon was replaced with a heat so fierce and the laugher itself broke into wails, choking in his throat and cracking on the surface. The river nearly toppled him more than once.

As it stormed, he sat on the riverbank, limbs drawn to his chest and his eyes watching the water, blind save for the deep rush of grey before him. He sat well into the evening, letting the storm dissipate and the sun dry him and his fur.

As it dipped into the treeline, he began to speak.

_Bethekk, Might of the Forest, Lord of Shadows, Queen, today I come loyal as ever. I give you my heart. I am yours._  
_Another wishes to speak to me, I have felt him my whole life._  
_I feel… At odds, so to speak._

Shadows began to rise around him, grown from tree trunks.

_I’ve never known his name, but before you today I give myself to him too, hoping for answers._

He let his eyes close, and a chill came about him. The grasses began to sway, answering to him, but not reaching to him.

_Please._  
_I am ready to listen._

Something broke his concentration, a plonk in the river water a ways off. He looked up and a rock hit him square in the head, causing him to yelp and throw his hand to the welt.

A river otter lazily floated a few feet from him, chittering, laughing, clapping its mittens against its stomach.

Taunting him. Laughing at him.

His lips drew back in a sneer and he stood, collecting his clothing and dressing. It would be a long trek back to the Grove in the dark.


End file.
